never ending system of abrasions
by PhylieSama
Summary: — Mello※Near. Slight. — 'When one makes a step forward, the other makes a step back.'
1. motionless

**_never-ending system of abrasions._**

_it's in the water, baby._**_  
><em>**

o1.

* * *

><p>There are moments when Near has the feeling of walking on a wire. A line, a tangent and narrow rope on which he can barely place a feet. And strangely, he feels as if someone has made him a funanbule against his sandstone.<p>

If he sways too much on one side, if he yields, he breaks the far too thin bond that keeps Mello to apathy. Just one too sudden movement, one sentence used at the wrong time, one too indifferent glance, and the storm falls bluntly, making his ears buzzing, invading all the space.

Violent. Vulgar. Terrible. Devastating.

And he wonders sometimes if there is a limit to this hatred or if it extends without barriers, spreading in him as an incurable disease and striking its target with the only goal of hurting at all costs.

Is there any a reason? Is it free? Is it frustration, jealousy or any other destructive feeling? Will it ever ends?

But whatever the question that he may arise, he has not the answer. Only speculations. Shadows too crystal clear to be caught, voices too far away to be heard—and he is in the middle of this battlefield, unable to infer anything.

And no matter how much this lack of answer may leaves him perplexed—he says nothing. He continues to listen silently, to intercept the insults without replying, and to look at him without blinking. And somewhere, it does not hurt, because the words slide over his heart and bounce back to go suffocating and dying in a dusty corner of his mind.

It's a never ending cycle of abuse. And with all these years that have never cease to widen the gap between them, it doesn't surprise him anymore.

He says nothing, and he waits for Mello to gets tired to see no reaction on his face.

Then finally, Near leaves.

_(but for whatever the reason, he never closes completely the door.)_


	2. unfair

o2.

* * *

><p>Sometimes when he is far, <em>far, far<em>, far away from Near, Mello can feel ounce of discouragement against the albino. It is not much. Just a grain of sand facing an entire desert—but that's all the same, and he can not help but consider it.

He might scream, spit and throw up his anger, sometimes even until he loses his own breath and exhausts his stock of insults, the only thing he gets in return is that damned bluntly indifference that he has the feeling to taken right in the face. And every time he stops yelling, on edge, run out of resources, resigned once again to watch him continue his puzzle as if nothing had happened without any other magnifestation of living, he feels that same empty feeling in his stomach—as a blindfolded boxer unable to do something else than hitting the air.

And he even wonders if the air would not be more receptive than Near, by the way.

It is unfair. Immoral. And annoying.

Why must he always be the weaker of them? The less intelligent. The less important. Why should he be the one who suffers despite all his efforts? The one that inevitably ends up crowded and good for nothing.

Those questions he knows by rote give him the unbearable feeling to have lived an eternity . And he has sometimes already fears for his future. Would he end up becoming bitter, constantly harping the same old story about an old rivalry, not caring to be listened, corroded and weakened by a hatred that would have eaten his heart and his brain like salty water gnaws the rock—an errosion that ceases only when there is nothing left to destroy?

All because of Near.

_Near_. Always so distant. Out of reach. Untouchable. Cruelly indifferent. Unable to look back just once in his life to only recognize Mello's existence. To simply see him.

How many times has his already dream to finally break that mask to see what is behind. To hurt him so much he could see his tears. To surprise him until he has to admit his defeat. To force him to see him as an equal.

Not just only number two.

But of course, that never happens. He never comes to anything, and in fact, he's the only fool in the case—the only humiliated, struggling pathetically with his anger that chokes him a little more each day.

And with this almost desperate feeling —which forces him to wonder if in the end, being L's successor has not become less important to him than exposing Near—he dares think of an other alternative in his darkest moments.

Maybe if he tried something other than hatred, he would succeed to enlighten his face of any expression. Surprise. Joy. _Smile?_

And while he furiously crunches in a just opened chocolate bar, he wonders when his dizzying fall will end.

He glares at the albino and think for less than a half second that he could share his candy. Just to see what would happen.

_(but in the end, he does not—never.)_


	3. unsolved

o3.

* * *

><p>If he was not so used and skilled to resolve the most complex puzzles that may exist, he probably would think that Mello is just one among many others. But this is not the case. And for both facts.<p>

This is something he has always do; reconstruct puzzles, reconstruct humans. And finally, this is exactly the same thing. A set of pieces that should fit together to make a whole. The neurons need to be connected to work. The organs are linked to maintain alive. Every thought is a result of the ties with the mind. The soul is attached to the body. The sounds to the vocal cords. The gestures to the brain. Each part goes with another_—that goes with another, which goes also with another, that goes with another, with another..._ There is an order to respect, otherwise everything is disturbed and we can always dream to one day reach the end of the mystery.

He always finished all of them without any problems, any questions.

Except one, of course.

And somewhere, he could sum it naturally as the puzzle of his life, because there is so much time he works on that he will probably never stops_—_that he will never stops until he understands why no piece seems to slip into another. They are all unique, different and impossible to categorize, to identify and associate. And, sometimes confused, sometimes curious, he wondered if this puzzle is a manufacturing error, an oversight, a mistake of its creator or just an enigma, an exception against which he will constantly bumping without being able to provide a single solution.

It's not something that annoys or disturbs him. He tolerates this oddity as if it was the most natural thing in the world_—_as if it was natural not to understand. Because it is.

There were more than eighty percent chance that, one day, something would escape him, and it's not that surprising, because it's the case for all humans_—_Right? Everyone ends up one day in front of something he is unable to decode, and it has something fascinating that pushes us to always try to find the key of the mystery while retaining our efforts, scared to make disappear, by understanding too quickly, this precious anomaly that reminds us with relief that we are still alive.

That there are things we do not know.

Playing with a lock of his hair, Near wonders if one day he'll succeed or really wish to understand the puzzle that Mello is.

_(it's definitely the hardest he ever had to solve.)_

_(because he is not empty and white, but full of colors, shades, shapes and messy feelings.)_


	4. choiceless

o4.

* * *

><p>He has this habit of claiming loudly that he would never lowers himself to become Near's friend or even try to understand him. To Matt's bewilderment. Yet it's not as if he had never thought about it.<p>

But it's not as if he always had the choice either.

Could he really be able to appreciate Near while they were both brought up in a institution where the golden rule had always been to do everything to become number one?_—_at any cost, with labor, _work, and work_. Could he be able to be his friend while he was still holding the place that everyone was pushing him to reach_—_the place he wanted with all his heart?

Perhaps in other circumstances, things would have been different, and the two young boys would have found in their differences something to build a strong and pretty bond.

But things are as they are, and despite we would like to change them, even the deepest of despair would not succeed.

There is nothing sad in that. It's just a story of '_wrong place, at the wrong time, with the wrong person_,' or a _'bad luck'_ as it happens every day, to all the people on Earth. And it is those accidents that defines who we are.

Sometimes, even while being fully aware of all that, Mello wonders all the same if it would be useful to make an effort to try to tolerate, to understand Near's so strangely attractive and yet so repulsive personality.

To understand why he never expresses anything but indifference. How he can to such a point do not care about the impression of the other about him. Why each looks they exchange seems to be a provocation. Why he looks at him without seeing. Why he sometimes seems almost begging him to shoot when he points his gun at him when he can no longer see his face as impartial. _Why... How..._

And finally, all he knows and is sure about him is that his name is Near. And even that may be questionable, because it's definitely not his real name. He has nothing. And understands nothing. And yet he is there, every day, the same as every day. Nobody. Somebody. A ghost. He sees through, but not inside.

And really, honestly, he wonders if so much hatred towards a stranger is justified.

Then he thinks for a moment and decides he still prefers the current situation; he would not change that. Mello does not want to cease hating Near.

_(because it's easier than trying to understand.)_

_(if at least there is something to understand.)_


	5. hurricane

o5.

* * *

><p>After all, it is only a story of pride, misunderstanding and fear.<p>

There are a very few opportunity that one day one of them will stop being so stubborn and will definitely understand that their questions are exactly the same, that their ignorance, their weaknesses are in the same place on their the two shells.

There is not and there will never be the place for mutual understanding between them. Because they will never cease to be two children and two geniuses above all, prisoners of their own consciousness and able to understand everyone with the greatest of ease except themselves.

Near will never stop being Near. Strange. Seeming so out of reach that we do not even dare to give a hand. Always solving people like puzzles and believing he can use them as the toys that cover the carpet in his room. Distant and uncertain. With his large eyes filled with all those little things that cause the creeps. And his way of looking Mello emotionless when he sees that his eyes throw thunder.

Mello will never stop being Mello. Strange, too. Determined and ready to face any kind of obstacles. Stubborn. Always eating chocolate as if it was a way to forget his troubles and to refuse to accept himself as he is. Close and yet so stealthy that we hesitate to approach him to fear to make him disappear. With his eyes that are a true mirror of his emotions that he never manages to hide for himself. And his way of yelling at Near when he perfectly knows that he does not care for his speech and that this will never lead him to anything.

Mello will never stop be attracted to Near, and Near and will never stop be attracted to Mello, because in the soul of the other they see the mirror of their own, even though they will always be too blinded by their differences for ever realizing it.

They are attracted to each other, then pushed back like magnets. They can get close, very close, but yet they will never touch..

When one makes a step forward, the other makes a step back.

_(it is only fear.)_

_(because the storm they would create if they blended would destroy everything they know.)_

* * *

><p><strong>an.** I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it_._

And of course, I don't own Death Note and its characters.


End file.
